by Kaela Noel
Then she thought back to how the flock had acted when Burr got hurt and went to Tully’s. Most of them had stopped talking and wandered away when Coo wondered out loud where Burr was, and if he was all right.
She thought about how it was when she was hungry and needed help. How Ka and the others had made it clear that she should be responsible for getting her own food. They didn’t care that she was too weak to even climb down the fire escape.
The memory stabbed sharply, like a stubbed toe. A sudden sharp pain.
But it faded just as quickly. She went back to pestering Burr.
It wasn’t wrong to remember and wonder, she was sure of that. After all, Tully had remembered Coo. She remembered her enough to come find her in the storm. Even though they weren’t any kind of flock mates at all then.
Pigeons were different. But why? It was troubling.
“Safe here, us,” Burr said. “Stay here, us. Flock fine.”
Coo didn’t agree, but she let it go.
She would find a way to go to the roof, and she would convince Burr to come with her, too.
Chapter Ten
Food Bazaar
Tully bundled Coo into her red corduroy coat and her new boots. She helped her with her hat and mittens. “You’ve been here more than a week, and I’m running out of food,” Tully said. “A trip to the grocery store is in order.”
They were going to the roof finally, Coo was sure of it. Somehow Tully had understood her.
Tully hurried her out the door so quickly, Coo didn’t have chance to say anything to Burr. Outside, the snow from the blizzard had turned crusty and grayish as stale frosting. Icicles sparkled from the tree branches. It was cold, but the sun was bright, and Coo was warm.
When they reached the end of the street, Coo spotted a metal cylinder on the sidewalk. It was piled high with bags and cups and empty boxes, but crowning the messy tower was something extraordinary: a waxy, brownish-yellow lump.
A banana!
Shaking off Tully’s hand, Coo grabbed it.
“Coo, no! Put that down. That’s trash.” Tully snatched the precious banana out of Coo’s hand and tossed it over a snowdrift.
Coo yelped.
“Technically that’s littering,” muttered Tully. “But I’m sure a squirrel will take care of it.”
The banana was less than half eaten and only a little bit brown. Coo blinked. She looked at the snow pile into which it had vanished. Then she began to cry.
“Oh dear. Coo, no tears,” said Tully. She pulled Coo into a hug, then looked her in the eye. “That was garbage. Trash. Bad! You don’t need to eat garbage anymore. We’re on our way to Food Bazaar. I’ll buy you some fresh new bananas, okay?”
Coo nodded, even though she didn’t understand why anyone would ever toss away a banana. She felt sad she wouldn’t be able to bring it to the others on the roof.
They did not go to the roof.
Tully led her down a few streets and then across a big, flat, tarry place full of cars sparkling in the sun. Tully held Coo’s hand very tight. When they reached the front of the building, there were many people milling about, all carrying heavy plastic sacks or pushing silver cages on wheels. Tully held Coo’s hand even more firmly and pulled her through a set of glass doors that opened on their own with a thwack. Suddenly Coo found herself in a place brighter than the roof on a cloudless day in summer. Lights like hundreds of tiny suns beamed down from the vast ceiling. Objects cluttered her sight wherever she looked. What was this place?
“This is Food Bazaar,” said Tully. “The grocery store I go to.”
Coo blinked in shock. She looked more closely at what was around her.
Great towers of apples. Heaps of lettuces. Hundreds of clumps of green-yellow-brown bananas. Bags and bags and bags of bread. A whole glass case full of perfectly ordered, never-smashed cupcakes with more colors of frosting than she could have imagined. Coo whirled one way and then another. There was this much food in the world? So many hungry days on the roof, when nearby was all this? This was nothing like she’d imagined a dumpster to be.
Closest to her was the shelf packed with dozens and dozens of bags of rolls, bagels, muffins, and every other kind of bread. Wiggling her hand out of Tully’s, Coo grabbed the first thing she could reach—a sack of cinnamon buns—and tore open the plastic. She stuffed one sweet sugary bun in her mouth and the rest of the bag down her jacket.
“Coo, no! We have to pay for those.” Tully reached into Coo’s jacket and pulled out the bag of cinnamon buns. She pulled the half-eaten bun from Coo’s mouth, too, and frowned.
Coo tried to grab the cinnamon bun back.
“Hush. You’re attracting too much attention,” Tully whispered. “I’ll buy you these and you can eat them later, okay?”
Lots of the humans were stopping to stare. Coo looked down at the shiny cream-colored floor and felt a blush creep up her neck. She didn’t like it when other humans stared at her. It wasn’t like pigeons staring. Human eyes were so big.
“Let’s hurry up. I’ll put these in the basket.” By the door, Tully had picked up a red plastic box with handles. Into it went the cinnamon buns.
So did some yellow bananas and a bag of bright green lettuce. Then Tully, holding Coo’s hand in the tightest grip Coo had yet experienced, led her up and down more aisles brimming with paper boxes, cartons, and bags. One aisle was filled entirely with puffy metallic pillows that crunched and shifted when you squeezed them. “Chips,” said Tully, and tossed one in the basket.
“Milk,” Tully said when they reached an aisle as cold as snow. “Let’s have some ice cream as a treat, too. I’ll get Neapolitan, so you can try strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate all at once.” Tully opened a foggy glass door and from one of the icy shelves plucked a carton striped with pink, white, and brown. She tossed it into the basket, which was getting very full.
“Food?” Coo said in English, staring in wonder at the things and people all around her. “No birds?”
Why didn’t pigeons have grocery stores? It looked so much easier than foraging.
“Only for humans, Coo,” said Tully.
“Why?”
“Well. Good question. People made grocery stores for themselves. Birds haven’t gotten around to that yet. Besides, a lot of this food isn’t good for pigeons to eat,” said Tully, bracing her basket against a low, open shelf full of bottles while she reached up for some cheese. “They should eat grains and seeds, like corn and barley. Sometimes vegetables are good for them, too, like lettuce.”
Tully led Coo over to a part of the store filled with people standing around in lines.
“I can barely carry this basket at this point!” said Tully, setting it down on the floor. “This is where we pay. With money. Because we can’t just take whatever we want. First we have to wait for our turn.”
It felt strange and uncomfortable to be clustered among so many others. And it was boring. Every time Coo tried to wander away to explore, Tully held her back. Slowly the line inched forward. Eventually Tully lifted up the basket again and began unloading it on the moving black table to their left.
Coo waited. Right at eye level were stacks and stacks of shiny sticks. Coo touched one. It crinkled nicely in her hand. She picked up two. Tully wasn’t looking. Coo put the sticks into her pockets, then grabbed more.
“Hey!” shouted a voice. “That kid is stealing candy bars!”
A stranger yanked at Coo’s coat. Tully whirled around, eyes flashing. Coo screamed.
“Stop!” Tully shouted. “She doesn’t understand.”
There was a tussle of hands, humans crowding around, Tully’s grasp on her wrist, and someone reaching into Coo’s jacket. Coo shut her eyes so tightly she saw bursts of light in the darkness. She threw her hands over her ears and whimpered.
“I’ll pay for them.” Coo heard Tully’s voice, firm and loud, saying words she didn’t know. “Let go of her. She’s just a small child.”
The strange hands came off Coo’s co
at. She opened her eyes. A tall man in a blue smock scowled at her.
“Ma’am,” he said. “You need to make sure your grandchild knows not to steal.”
“She knows now,” Tully replied. “It won’t happen again. We’ll pay for them, sir.”
Tully stood between Coo and the angry man in the blue smock. Tully’s forehead was twisted with wrinkles.
“Coo, we have to pay for the candy bars,” Tully said gently. “We can’t just take them.”
Coo wasn’t sure what candy bars were, but she watched Tully put the sticks on the black table, which lurched to life and moved them toward a blue-smocked woman standing behind it. The people who had gathered started to drift away, including the blue-smocked man.
“There,” Tully sighed. “Crisis over. And we’ll have candy for weeks. But Coo, that was stealing. It’s very bad. We have to pay for things we want. Watch, I’m giving them money.”
Coo pulled her red hat down as far as she could over her head until she could barely see. She looked from the corner of her eye as Tully pulled a stack of green bits of paper from her pocket and handed them over to the woman behind the table. The woman handed back more green paper and some little pieces of metal, and then Tully took the groceries—in plastic bags now, just like the ones Coo wore on the roof—and beckoned for Coo to follow her out of the store.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Coo,” Tully said as they walked over the sparkly, drippy snow-slushed sidewalks toward her apartment. “I might have bitten off more than I can chew with all of this. And these bags are so heavy.”
Tully put the bags on a stoop and slowly sank down beside them. The street was deserted. She put her head in her hands so Coo could only see her wool hat.
Coo sat next to her. Food Bazaar had scared her down to her bones, scared her as much as cats and hawks and being alone on the ground. But it was also the most mysterious and wonderful place she’d ever been. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched Tully’s hand, mitten to mitten.
“Okay, you?” her head swirling, she asked in pigeon.
“You know I don’t understand when you speak like the birds, right?” Tully’s face reappeared. She looked sad, but she was smiling. “What a media circus there would be if word got out about you living with pigeons and understanding their speech. Another reason not to bring you to the police; I just know they’d mess it up.” Tully took off her mittens, rummaged through one of the bags, and pulled out the open sack of cinnamon buns. “Let’s share these,” she said, handing one to Coo and taking another for herself.
The cinnamon bun was sweet and rich. It tasted even better on the stoop than it had in the store.
“I like taking care of you, Coo. Since you’ve come into my life, I’m so happy. After Ben died, I never expected to feel like I had a family again.” Tully paused. “But how on earth can I make this work? You’re already looking healthier, but I need to figure out how you can go to school. And I need to tell the authorities something about you.”
Tully’s words jumbled in Coo’s mind. Stoop. Happy. Birds. She understood Tully’s tone. Tired, like an old pigeon. Joyful, too. But also scared. If Tully was scared, what did it mean for Coo? Her stomach flipped and flopped.
The roof was safe. Coo could go back to the roof and tell the flock about Food Bazaar. If only they knew! No more dumpsters, no more hunger. They just had to get through the strange doors and avoid the humans in blue smocks. Everything would work out. Coo had been mostly fine there all those years. She could be fine again. Even in winter. She had a coat now, after all.
She looked at the last bit of cinnamon bun in her hand and wondered how far she was from the roof, and if she could get back there right now. She was well enough again to run. But which way?
She wasn’t going back without Burr. Somehow she would have to convince him it was where they belonged, and they would find their way back together.
“You’re alive, Tully! Thank God.”
Tully and Coo had picked up all the Food Bazaar bags and started the rest of the walk home. They were almost in front of Tully’s apartment building when a woman stopped them. She was tall and pale, with bright blue paint on her eyelids and frizzy red hair sticking out from under her purple-and-green hat. Her coat was purple, too, and so were her snow boots. Coo was shocked to see two little smiling orange cat faces dangling from the woman’s ears. They weren’t real cats, but who would choose to wear things like that? Coo edged back.
“Lucia!” Tully looked up. “My goodness. It’s been ages! How are you?”
“Getting over the flu, that’s how.” Lucia shook her head. The cats danced. “It’s bad this year.”
“I’m so sorry you were sick,” said Tully. “Are you okay now?”
“I’m fine, but goodness, Tully. I’ve tried you a few times on the phone over the past week with no answer! Did you get a new number? I thought something had happened to you.”
As Coo watched, Tully turned as pink as strawberry yogurt.
“I—well—I’m so sorry, Lucia. It’s not personal. I’ve been busy taking care of my, um, niece.”
“Your niece?”
The woman stared down at Coo. Her lips were very red. The cats seemed to look at Coo too.
Coo stepped behind Tully.
“This is Coo—I mean, Colette. She’s called Coo for short.”
“Niece? Tully, you have a niece?” Lucia’s blue-lidded eyes widened. “I thought you were an only child? Ben, too.”
“Grandniece, grandniece.” Tully adjusted the bags in her hands and nudged Coo in front of her again. “It’s complicated. My life has changed a lot.”
“A niece. My word! Pleasure to meet you, Coo.”
Lucia looked down at Coo while she spoke. She looked at her like no one ever had before, not even Tully. She was smiling, but also seemed to be searching for something.
“How old are you, Colette?” Lucia asked.
Coo stared at her.
“She’s eleven,” Tully said. “She’s nervous around strangers.”
“That’s smart. You’re a lucky girl, Coo, getting to spend time with Tully! Did she knit you that hat?”
Coo looked at Tully, who nodded back nervously.
“Red hat,” Coo said. “My hat.”
“Unusual accent.” Lucia looked puzzled. “I can’t place it. Where are you from, Coo?”
“Her parents are—uh—from Eastern Europe,” said Tully. “They arrived recently.”
Lucia glanced at Tully. “This story gets more and more interesting. Well. I want to catch up with you! Let’s get coffee.”
“I would love to catch up with you, too.”
“Answer my calls for a start, okay? Don’t leave me worrying.” Lucia laughed and started to walk down the street. “And good luck, Colette. I hope you have a fun time with your great-aunt.”
Coo watched Lucia disappear around the corner. Then she turned to Tully. There was a strange, pinched look on Tully’s face.
“Come on, Coo,” said Tully after a long silence. “It’s cold. Let’s hurry inside.”
Chapter Eleven
Sick
The morning after the visit to Food Bazaar, Tully pulled a small shoebox down from a kitchen cabinet and put it on the table along with some plain paper.
“I keep this around for when kids in the building come over,” said Tully, opening the top. “I can’t believe it took me so long to get it out.”
Coo peered inside the box. She saw a jumble of colorful sticks. She sniffed. They had a strange smell, sort of dusty.
“Crayons,” said Tully. “Markers, too. Here. You can draw.” She mimicked scribbling on the paper. “And then we’ll work on writing.”
Coo picked up a dark purple stick. It felt smooth and cold in her hand. She dragged it across the paper.
A line! A vivid purple line.
Coo gasped.
It was like the rocks she used to scratch shapes and pictures into the grime of the roof, but a thousand times better
. She reached into the box and pulled out more crayons. They came in every color—blue, green, pink, brown, black, red. Tully showed her how to pop the caps off the markers and draw with those, too. They made streaks as bright as smashed berries on the paper.
Coo drew and drew and drew. She drew pigeons and dovecotes, bagels and donuts, Tully and Burr. She drew buildings. She drew flowers and trees and fire escapes and hawks. She drew herself.
Burr hopped over and watched. He picked up a blue crayon in his beak and made a few stubbly dots on the page before dropping it. Coo felt a twinge of sadness. Some things were a lot harder for birds.
Lunchtime came. Tully boiled a package of instant ramen. Coo waited until the soup was cool, then slurped the noodles and salty broth straight from the bowl, still holding crayons and markers in her fists. She didn’t want to stop drawing for a moment.
“How about we try writing?” Tully said some time after lunch, as the light grew dim in the room. She switched on the lamps. “I’ll show you the alphabet and your name.”
Tully pulled out a clean sheet of paper and drew plain, skinny shapes that didn’t look like much in particular. While she watched, Coo tapped her foot on the floor, put her head on the table, and spun markers in circles. Writing was not as interesting as drawing.
But then Tully showed her how to spell Coo.
“C-O-O,” said Tully, pointing to the shapes she’d just written in black across the top of the paper. “Coo. See?”
C-O-O. It was like the marks in the newspapers on the roof, and in Tully’s books. And it was her name. Coo sat up and stared.
“B-U-R-R,” Tully said, drawing new shapes just below COO. “That’s Burr. It’s shorter than writing out Milton Burr.” Tully had started calling him by both names.
“Look at this, you,” said Coo, turning to Burr where he sat atop the sugar bowl preening his feathers. “It’s your name.” She pointed to the letters.
“Burr,” said Burr. He hopped down and looked closer. “Words, them?”
“Words, them,” said Coo. She pointed. “Coo and Burr.”